“Mother of God! what an admirable persuasiveness have these aristocrats! I had thought myself beneath his notice, and, behold! he would make me his companion--and in the face of the village, too. Come, then, monsieur. Will you take your _paillarde_ on your arm?” He listened to her with some compassion (for all her wild speech he thought her heart was choked with accumulated tears), then moved forward and walked along the woodland path by her side. To his few questions she returned but monosyllabic answers. Presently, however--when they were come out within view of the village fountain, where Ned’s first meeting with her had taken place--she stayed him with a hand upon his sleeve. “‘As she makes her bed, so must she lie on it.’ You see I remember your words, monsieur. And, if she has made her bed as the virtuous disapprove, in England she may yet lie soft on it?” “Without doubt, in England or elsewhere, so long as she lives only for the present.” “Ah! little Mother of God! but how natural to these aristocrats comes the preaching-cant.” All in a moment her eyes and her speech softened most wooingly, and she put up her hands, in a characteristic coaxing manner, to the young man’s breast. “I am ill and weary now,” she said. “It is not good to suffer long the hatred of one’s kinsfolk, the gibes of one’s familiars. But in another atmosphere I should learn to resume myself--at least to resume all that of me that concerns the regard of men. The result would be worth the possessing, monsieur. Monsieur, when you return to England, will you take me with you?” As she spoke, a light step sounded coming up the meadow-path, before mentioned, that ran into the head of the woodland. It approached; Théroigne, with a conscious look, fell back a little; and immediately, moving staid and decorous over the young grass, the white lodge-keeper of the chateau came into view. She suffered, Ned could see, one momentary shock of indecision as her eyes encountered his; then she advanced, and, without a word, went on her way into the wood. But, as she passed, she acknowledged Ned’s salutation with a grave little inclination of her head, and with the act was not forgetful to withdraw her skirts from contact with those of Mademoiselle Lambertine, who, for her part, shrank back and made not the least show of protest or resentment. Ned, however, regarded with some twinkle of amusement the slow-pacing figure till it was out of sight, and then he only turned to Théroigne with a questioning look. The girl came up to him again, but doubtfully now, it seemed, and with a certain wide awe in her eyes. “You must not say it, monsieur,” she whispered; “you must not say what I can read on your lips. She has seen the Blessed Virgin since you were last here--has seen and spoken with her.” “God forgive me for a scoffer! And that is why she is all in blue, I suppose, and why her blue skirt must not touch hems with your red one?” Théroigne hung her head.